There are 2 Crim shows I’ve attended that stood out as signal changers. Signalling what, not sure I can articulate, but even the long suffering wife dragged criminally against her will to decades of KC adventures observed after this one: "Well, what do you think that was about?" The sore tooth and the peculair t shirt were flags that something other was occuring, and if I could pinpoint it, I would. Perhaps the closest I can come is to say that in addition to King Crimson being in the room, there was an elephant not talking. The Good Doctor and I looked at each other bewildered. It seemed short for a Crim gig, not that there has to be a prescribed length, but more as though something tectonic had shifted the vectors away from the theartre. This was a head scratcher, powerful often, especially on the bum of John Paul Jones and his Scots’ mates lifting their kilts, and especially odd. There was a feeling in my gut that Crim was coming to an end. The other time? 2009(?) 40th reunion (I can’t tell if I’m just getting old, or more Irish, but one day in the past is the same as the next) in Philly, the Keswick. There had been a couple of gigs at Park West in Chicago I’d convinced Cousin Patty to catch, and then Philly and I’m not sure what, if anything, followed. Again, the long suffering missus and the Good Doctor along, as the band assembled center stage and Fripp stood off to the side, post encore, I thought "That’s it. I’ve just seen the last King Crimson show."